Episode 2 - A Day at Athi (1)
“Professor! It's an honor to meet you!”
“The honor is all mine, Mr. Hamilton.”
Park Professor shook hands warmly with the bald man waiting just outside the airport.
“I read your paper from last year. The idea that humanity's burial culture might have emerged much earlier... Just imagining it is thrilling. Especially that part about the bola...”
As Hamilton's head gleamed and his body trembled with excitement, Park Professor smiled awkwardly and waved it off.
“I'm the one who should be grateful. Your support made that radical paper acceptable.”
“Haha, I'm glad to hear that. And the lady behind you...?”
“My assistant.”
At those words, Han Si-ha, who was dragging a massive suitcase behind Park Professor, let out a sigh.
“Professor, it's been over a month since I got my PhD. How long are you going to treat me like an assistant?”
“Until you're not on my research team anymore.”
Han Si-ha sighed again, reminded that she now officially belonged to his team. The fossils and graves they'd discovered in Tanzania had drawn worldwide attention, naturally followed by a flood of funding.
In other words, for someone aiming for paleoanthropology, there was no more appealing workplace than Park Professor's team right now.
“...You'd better pay me well. For real.”
“I am paying you well. You're the second highest paid on the team after me.”
Hamilton waited for their banter to end, then offered her a handshake with a smile.
“Haha, you two get along well. The rest of your team arrives in a few days, right?”
“Yes, on account of all the equipment and people.”
“Perfect. Then, as planned, let's head to the site first.”
“The site... you mean that place?”
“Exactly. That place.”
Hamilton grinned broadly, but oddly, his voice dropped low.
Excitement. Anticipation.
And just a hint of fear.
Park Professor knew the feeling well.
The expression an archaeologist wears before a truly significant site is much the same, no matter the country—like a tomb robber before treasure, or a surgeon before the operating room door.
“Where exactly is it?”
As they walked toward the parking lot, Hamilton answered Park Professor's question.
“A sedimentary basin near the upper Tana River, southeast of Mount Kenya. We're calling it the Tana site for now. We'll start excavating as soon as you arrive.”
This place was like another world.
Especially near the rocky hill.
“Wahaha!”
“Uo! Uo!”
“What're you saying?!”
“What're you saying?!"
People of all shapes and kinds conversed, argued, bartered goods, and shared the gnu roasting whole over the central rock hill's fire.
Naturally, two of the three the father had brought were there—and luckily, Mother and I got to share in it, tucked into his group.
Thanks to Father's generosity, I clutched a massive leg, slicing into it with a stone flake, when he spoke to Mother.
“White Wind. You still won't join my group?”
“Not yet.”
“Why? Group good. Hunt easier. Night safer.”
“Don't like crowding.”
Ah, so that was why Mother lived apart—she just hated the hassle.
“White Wind, you good female. Join my group, be good mother.”
Mother frowned and shook her head at Father's words.
“No. I bad female. Not good mother.”
“No, you good mother. Look Pretty Eyes. Raised child alone so well.”
“Pretty Eyes smart. Pretty Eyes knows without words, learns without teaching.”
“That's 'cause you good mother!”
“I not good mother! Stupid Fast Foot!”
“What?! Stupid?! You idiot! White Wind!!”
Their bickering escalated.
The content felt off somehow, but I couldn't just watch—I stopped eating and approached them.
“Why fight?”
“Not fighting. Your mother idiot.”
“Right. Not fighting. Fast Foot stupid.”
To me, they seemed equally foolish. I didn't say it aloud, but turned to Mother.
“Mother, why say you're not good?”
“...Couldn't protect child. So bad mother.”
From her words, it seemed I once had a sibling.
While she foraged, leaving her original group, predators invaded—and the child died.
She distrusted groups that failed to protect her young, and couldn't forgive herself for entrusting one to them. That was her now.
Father shared the guilt of failing to protect his offspring; his face wasn't great either. Watching them, I thought: unavoidable.
In this world, human lives were no sturdier than weeds. Mauled by beasts, poisoned, diseased, or dying pointlessly.
In a world without modern medicine, how fragile life was—only someone who'd lived it knew.
If modern medicine existed, I wouldn't have lost Mother like that in my previous life...
The wound was bad, but proper care might've saved her.
With that thought, I slowly spoke to my parents.
“...Wasn't something anyone could stop, right?”
They both looked at me, silent for a moment.
“Unavoidable” is often an excuse for what’s beyond control.
But unavoidable is unavoidable.
Countless causes led to it, too many for small human minds to grasp. That's why the modern world uses laws and systems to manage them.
I used my stone flake to draw in the dirt.
“Beast here.”
I drew a beast. My skill was poor, but the huge fangs evoked Megantereon.
“Child here.”
A simple small circle beside it.
“Group here.”
A big circle next.
“Group protects child.”
I tapped the big circle.
“But group hunts, gathers food. Sleeps, gets sick, fights.”
I added lines inside.
Scattered some away.
“Can't all watch child always.”
Mother's face hardened. Father shut his mouth. I spoke slower.
“Beasts come when hungry. Even with group, fire, spears. Bad luck, anyone dies.”
Bitter taste in my mouth. Life here was dice rolls.
No—dancing in a predator's jaws.
But not Mother's fault.
I pointed to the child drawing.
“Child die sad. Very sad. But not 'cause Mother bad.”
“......”
“If Mother bad, I not here.”
Mother's hand froze.
“I ate. Walked. Learned. Mother taught all.”
I thumped my chest.
“That's why I live.”
Mother's eyes wavered.
“So Mother not bad mother.”
“Pretty Eyes.”
She whispered my name, voice cracking.
“You smart. Very smart. Not like me.”
I shook my head.
“Mother smart too. Knows many things?”
I only had shallow modern knowledge. Mother knew deep survival: foraging, water, safe paths, good stones. Far beyond me.
She gazed, then hugged me gently.
“Thank you, Pretty Eyes.”
As we embraced, Father piped up.
“So, join my group now, White Wind?”
She pondered, then nodded slowly.
“...After dry season. Maybe.”
“Really?!”
“Said maybe. After see if your group protects Pretty Eyes.”
Father's face lit up—like a new sun overhead.
“White Wind comes! White Wind joins our group!”
“Not yet. After dry.”
“Means yes!”
“Means no yet.”
“But yes!”
“Quiet. Eat meat.”
Irritated tone, but her lips twitched up. Father ignored—or missed it—ripping into a chunk, grinning wide.
His laugh boomed; nearby folks glanced over.
One gestured questioningly; Father thumped his chest.
“White Wind! Comes!”
“Ooh!” Laughter rippled around.
Mother scowled away.
“Stupid Fast Foot.”
But she didn't seem upset.
I watched them quietly, popping another bite.
The roasted meat was tough, charred bitter spots, but not bad. Maybe not the taste—maybe the peace of the moment.
Shouts and laughs mixed everywhere. Someone knapped sharp flakes; another wrestled over a hide with an unintelligible stranger.
Kids neared the fire, yanked back by adults; elders chuckled toothlessly.
Too rough for civilization, too complex for wilderness.
Athi, the Unfading Land—more vital to humanity than I'd thought.